


Where Winter Falls

by tommygurl15



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2018-12-30 19:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12115710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tommygurl15/pseuds/tommygurl15
Summary: Picks up at the end of season 7 filling in some gaps then will keep going. As much as I can, anyway. Jon/Dany main ship. Read and review. First timer, by the way.





	1. Jon Snow I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon embarks upon the journey from Dragonstone to White Harbor. He speaks with Davos and hooks up Gendry with Brienne.

_A/N: This is a, primarily, Jon/Dany focused fic with plenty of other surrounding/related action. Other implied ships include: Tyrion/Sansa, Arya/Gendry, and Jaime/Brienne. The fic is show canon-compliant with some book references. It starts off during Season 7 Episode 7 “The Dragon and the Wolf”. First time writer, by the way. Reviews and comments are highly welcomed and greatly appreciated. I hope you enjoy it._

**Jon Snow I**

The King in the North – _Warden of the North now really_ – hurried down Dragonstone’s wide spiral staircase to catch up with his most trusted advisor Ser Davos Seaworth who has become sort of a father figure to Jon Snow as of late – ever since that fateful night at Castle Black when the Onion Knight had believed so much in the Bastard of Winterfell to find him to be too good for death. And so, had implored the Red Woman, who he already had massive reservations of, to bring the Lord Commander back from the dead.

Jon passed the ledge where he had had his first one-on-one conversation with the Dragon Queen. The sun had been setting and the dragons were flying overhead. He had noticed that her hair glowed even brighter here outside than in the dim lit throne room. And while her voice maintained its regality, it was a tad softer when they spoke. Then, she took a leap of faith and allowed him to mine the dragonglass on her island.

 _Was that the moment I started falling for her?_ He didn’t know. Or was it when she threw his own words to Mance Rayder back at him? Or was it when he saw her fiery passion determined to fight on the front lines with her men? Or was it when he saw her eyes silently pleading him not to go on that suicide mission beyond the Wall? Or was it when she rode in with her dragons and saved the foolish mission she had doubted from the first?

 _It does not matter anymore_. For when he took her hand in his, he knew that she had felt it, too. She had squeezed back, taken his own hand in hers later, and rubbed little circles on it with her thumb. She had fought herself not to give in and left him to rest.

“Everything alright?” Davos asked genuinely about Theon Greyjoy – who had just requested a private audience with his King – without seeming to pry when Jon fell into step next to him.

“We’re looking ahead,” Jon responded plainly.

“Will the Greyjoys join us on the voyage North?” His advisor now asked from a strategic standpoint.

“No. Not yet, anyway.” He paused. “Theon will try to rescue his sister,” he explained.

“From his uncle?!” Davos now asked rhetorically knowing the answer already. He was concerned for the young man. In the few times he had seen Theon, he seemed like a good lad; but, rather troubled and often drifted off into his own. Obviously, unable to reconcile with his own demons.

They stayed silent until reaching the sands on the beach. Davos looked at the black and red Targaryen sails on the _Silver Queen_ and said: “The Queen’s advisors aren’t too pleased she’s sailing North. Ser Jorah, especially”.

“It’s the right thing to do,” Jon did not want to get into it again. It was the better political option. What would be a better first impression of Daenerys for the Northern Lords? Flying in on top of beasts – as _gorgeous_ as they may be – not seen in hundreds of years or riding in next to their chosen leader united as allies?

 _Am I still their chosen leader though after bending the knee?_ As much as Jon knew that bending the knee to Daenerys – with her armies, dragons, claim to the throne, and above all her compassion and determination – is the best course for saving his people, for saving the entire realm in fact, he worried about the Northerners. _They’d see her for what she is_ , he had assured her – and himself. But, he still worried. Their pride and stubbornness often got the better part of them.

And as if on cue, Davos interjected his thoughts: “Like you did at the Dragonpit?” with a tinge of sarcasm not lost on Jon.

“I knew you weren’t gonna let that go,” Jon exclaimed.

“You love her, don’t you?”

Jon remained silent and looked out to the sea.

That was enough of an answer for Davos. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’, then”. He sighed saying: “Your sister is _not_ gonna like that”.

Jon almost cut him off: “I know!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jon saw a glimpse of Lady Brienne and her squire Podrick Payne coming towards them. “Could you get Gendry from the mines?” He asked in more of a command to dismiss the old man.

Davos turned towards the dragonglass cave and nodded “My Lady” to Brienne as she and Podrick reached Jon.

“Good morning, Your Grace” Brienne said with a bow, which Podrick followed clumsily.

“No need to call me that anymore,” Jon quickly responded.

She obliged: “Very well, my Lord”.

Brienne of Tarth was, after all, a loyal servant of House Stark. And so, it had been agreed after the decision that the Dothraki would ride hard on the King’s Road that Brienne would accompany them into the North as a representative of its ruling house. They would set up camp at the rendezvous point with the royal party and the Unsullied who would march from White Harbor carrying stockpiles of dragonglass and the already forged weapons.

Now, Jon reached inside his cloak and took out a rather big scroll sealed with the direwolf sigil of House Stark. He handed it over to her saying: “A letter to Sansa. There’s only so much I can explain in a raven”.

“Understandable, Your Gr-my Lord,” Brienne stuttered for a moment.

Jon noticed Davos and Gendry approaching and continued: “That there is Gendry Waters, a talented blacksmith and battle-tested beyond the Wall. He’s worked the dragonglass mines here and I’d like you to escort him to Winterfell as soon as the Dothraki set up camp”.

“Yes, my Lord,” she got it right this time.

“Also, I don’t like leaving Sansa alone with Littlefinger for too long,” he added.

“Neither do I,” Brienne agreed, “but, the Lady Arya is able of protecting her”.

Jon raised his brows to the woman towering him to which she responded: “She’s rather skilled with a peculiar skinny blade”.

_She kept Needle._

A wide grin suddenly covered Jon’s face as he noticed Podrick trying to contain a giggle and Brienne shooting him a side look.

Gendry, then, arrived next to Davos and took Jon out of his thoughts by saying: “Good morning, Your Grace”.

Jon sighed, almost rolled his eyes, and decided that he could not correct everyone all the time.

He turned to the young man: “Gendry, this is Lady Brienne of Tarth, she’s sworn shield to my sisters Sansa and Arya”. He noticed the blacksmith gulping but kept going: “You’re to go with her. She’s accompanying the Dorthraki on the King’s Road after which you’ll ride on with her to Winterfell. Take as much dragonglass as you can carry on the road and start forging weapons out of it. We’ll carry the already forged weapons and the rest of the glass with us”.

Gendry nodded with a newfound focus.

Jon almost turned around before remembering: “Make sure you acquaint yourself with the Dothraki Arakh. They’ll need it atop their horses”. He paused; then, said: “Now, I must bid you all farewell. I look forward to seeing you again at Winterfell”.

He turned towards the ship and as he and Ser Davos walked together again, he overheard Podrick utter his first full sentence of the day: “So, whose bastard are you?”

Gendry responded: “Robert Baratheon’s”.


	2. Dayenerys Targaryen I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany contemplates her developing relationship with Jon before they set sail to White Harbor.

**Daenerys Targaryen I**

It was Daenerys’s turn at the ledge now. Their ledge. Ever since they had their first one-on-one conversation there during which she allowed him to mine his precious dragonglass, she would come here every day to watch the sunset and her dragons roaming the skies.

And so would he. As if she had been summoning him in her thoughts.

She often shared stories from her past; brushing over painful details sticking only to main outlines that were more or less common knowledge among her people. For some reason, she had wanted him to know what it took for her to be where she is today. It was almost as if she was trying to gain his acceptance and dare she say the respect of _this stubborn Northerner_.

He, on the other hand, did not share much – _mysterious as he was_ – choosing instead to give her progress reports on the mining of the dragonglass.

Only once did she manage to get something out of him. After she had returned from the Battle of the Blackwater Rush, Drogon had decided to land by Jon who she had just spotted on the cliffs – _waiting for her?_ The dragon then rushed forward to Jon who stood his ground like the Wall itself. And when Drogon came to a stop his snout in Jon’s face, the Northern madman took off a glove and started petting him.

Daenerys was surprised to say the least. No one had ever touched her dragons besides her. She knew Tyrion released Rhaegal and Viserion from their shackles back in Mereen. But, this was Drogon – the most ferocious and protective of her children. And what was even more surprising was how Drogon, who had been injured in the battle, relaxed under Jon’s touch. The curiosity was tormenting her.

“What gave you the idea to pet Drogon as you did?” She asked breaking the silence as they stood at the ledge later that day.

“I did as I would with Ghost,” he responded and clarified when she gave him a questioning look: “My direwolf”.

“You have a direwolf?” She was in awe; she had always thought the sigil animal of House Stark was merely a mythical creature.

He then told her the story of how they had come across a whole litter of them and how, as a bastard, he got the runt of it. He concluded saying: “We were all together then” with a mix of sadness over those lost, pain of being mistreated, and nostalgia for simpler times.

And just as often, they stood at the ledge in complete silence relishing the other’s company in peace as the dragons roared and the sea waves crashed against the rocks.

She had not come to the ledge in some time though. Not since they returned from the suicide mission beyond the Wall. Not since it became as clear as the now shinning sun above her that they both harbored feelings for one another.

She had found herself fearful, like she had not been since her dragons were born, when he decided to go capture a _wight_ for Cersei Lannister. She did not need to think much when the raven arrived from Eastwatch and hurried to go, with Tyrion on her heels begging her to reconsider. She only had eyes for Jon when she circled above the Army of the Dead. And when she held her hand out to him, it was like reaching for a lifeline.

Then, standing atop the seven hundred-foot wall of ice, she had the time to face herself with the truth. She can dodge Tyrion all she wants; but, it was too late. She had lost Jon before she had even realized she had found him.

But then, he returned to her.

She did not leave his bedside until he awoke, she wanted to be certain that he really did return to her. And when he did, she lost much of her regal mask; face and voice so soft, she was no longer Daenerys Targaryen but simply _Dany –_ just as he had called her.

And when he took her hand; his voice thick and rugged as he apologized, she felt a spark ignite a deep fire within and tried to brush off by re-placing her regal mask. But, in the end, it was she who took his hand again after he pledged her his allegiance. She did not deserve it; she had not believed him when she should have.

She lost herself in his touch – as minimal and soft as it was. They both traced small circles with their thumbs on the other’s hand. And when she looked down to their entwined hands, she saw how well they fit together and looked up into his big grey eyes and saw an exquisite combination of adoration, devotion, empathy, and desire.

It scared her. None of the men in her life had ever looked at her like that. None of the men in her life _even_ compared to Jon Snow. She was no longer in control and that had not happened to her in a very long time. When she tried to retreat her hand, he held it tighter willing her to stay. She almost blushed and rushed out of his cabin like a love struck girl.

And she had not come to the ledge since. He did though. She would watch him from the window in her war council chamber or the terrace in her private quarters waiting for her to come again never giving up hope.

She made sure she was not alone with him, too. And tried as much as she could to avoid his eyes in meetings and over shared meals. Sometimes though, she longed to look upon his face again and would try to steal a glance, and every time he was right there with that same look in his eyes.

She couldn’t not go to him after his declaration at the Dragonpit though. And again, he looked at her with those eyes telling her matter-of-factly and with so much emotion at the same time that she is not like everyone else. Then, he made it even worse when he made her doubt that she is barren – a horrid truth she has been living with for years. _Was he offering?_

And now, they were sailing together to White Harbor. She knew it was the right choice for their alliance. She did not need a show of power with the Northerners as she did with Cersei. But, there was another _underlying_ reason, too. She was not sure though if it was to challenge herself to resist him or challenge him to make his intentions known.

She was now looking down at him standing on the beach with Ser Davos, the young man the Onion Knight had brought from the capital, the rather large lady knight who came to the Dragonpit in Sansa Stark’s stead, and her squire who was apparently in Tyrion’s service back in King’s Landing.

_I really ought to start getting to know these new comrades._

She heard her band of advisors approaching from behind. Jorah, Missandei, Grey Worm, Tyrion, and Varys. The whole lot of them. It was time to head to what could possibly be their doom.

 

 

 

 


	3. Tyrion Lannister I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion contemplates the enormity of the Great War. Clegane tells Jon about Arya. Jorah reveals that Sam saved him.

**Tyrion Lannister I**

They are sailing to their doom.

Tyrion Lannister was a learned man; one of the brightest and wisest in the Seven Kingdoms. When he fled King’s Landing – after spending weeks in a cell drowning in filth then killing his father and whore of a lover, he had never thought that he would be awarded the opportunity to once again be a major player of the Game.

He had given up and Varys brought him back from oblivion when he propelled him on a track to meet the Dragon Queen; a woman so fierce, passionate, determined, and above all magical – _she had brought dragons back into the world._ But, she was at times – _maybe too often as of late_ – impulsive, stubborn, overly-righteous, and cruelly ruthless to those who committed atrocities against the weak and innocent, as well as, those she deemed as enemies because they did not bend to her will – _the most blatant recent example of which were the Tarlys._

Still, she was the Queen he chose, the Queen they all chose – _even Jon Snow_. She was the _right kind of terrible_ ; a woman with enough strength and compassion to actually break the wheel – as she herself called it back in Mereen when they had their first conversation as advisor and ruler.

He was exhilarated when they embarked across the Narrow Sea back to Westeros. This very ship, the _Silver Queen_ , witnessed many nights during which he strategized how he would put Daenerys Targaryen on the Iron Throne. It was, in theory, an impeccable plan accounting for the newly-forged alliances, their combined military and naval strengths, and the political maneuvering required to win the Game.

It all amounted to nothing though. A new player, Euron Greyjoy, took out two of their allies in a swift blow. And Tyrion’s own brother, Jaime, outsmarted him and in a single strike, made their victory at Casterly Rock meaningless, took out their third ally, and seized the much needed food reserves of the Reach.

And then, as if matters could not get any worse, the Bastard of Winterfell had come out of nowhere bringing to the fore a much bigger threat. Tyrion had suspected its gravity from Snow’s determination and lack of consideration for his own safety traveling all the way from Winterfell to Dragonstone seeking help. But, Tyrion still had his doubts.

Only when Daenerys returned from beyond the Wall with just two dragons did he realize the enormity of the situation. _What kind of creature can take down a dragon?_ He had half a mind to urge his Queen to abandon this fight all together for the monumental risks it posed to her legacy. But, after seeing the _wight_ at the Dragonpit, _and that was just the lowest ranked soldier in the Army of Dead_ , dread like no other crept all over his small body.

It was like the fear he had felt in the Sky Cells of the Vale, on the night of the Battle of Blackwater Bay, when Oberyn Martell was battling the Mountain, and when the dwarf released two dragons from their shackles in Mereen had all been wrapped into one, multiplied a thousand fold, and now resided in the pit of his stomach.

And it was his job, as her Hand, to ensure that Daenerys Targaryen emerged victorious from this frightening children’s tale if there was to be any hope not just for breaking the wheel and bringing about peace to the Seven Kingdoms but for the mere survival of the realm.

_We ARE sailing to our doom._

With everything they had been through lately; the mission beyond the Wall, the loss of Viserion, and the parley at the Dragonpit, it was decided that they will take a break from it all during their first day in the seas. They had time to spare; the journey to White Harbor would take a ten days, after all.

They had set sail a few hours earlier, had just concluded their supper in the ship’s main hall, and were now deep into drinks. Most of Daenerys’s party were consuming wine; fine Dornish red from the many crates Ellaria Sand gifted the Dragon Queen when she came to Dragonstone. Jon Snow, Ser Davos, Ser Jorah, and Sandor Clegane though were drinking ale – the Onion Knight had taken some time out of their second trip to King’s Landing to procure the Northern drink for his King.

Tyrion surveyed the room and his eyes fell on none other than the Hound. He had not seen him since he fled from the Battle of Blackwater Bay – the wildfire obviously too much for him to handle. Then, like a ghost from the past, he showed up on the shores of Dragonstone carrying the crate housing the proof they would provide Cersei. Tyrion was too occupied with processing the loss of Viserion and preparing for the Dragonpit parley to care to question the man about where he has been during the past few years.

The Hound was now sitting at the other end of the rectangular table placed in the center of the room. Next to him was the King in the North who had slanted his chair slightly so that he is not head-to-head with the woman to whom he swore allegiance – the quick hidden glances between the two not lost on Tyrion.

“She told me of your kindness to her at the Capital. I thank you for that, Ser,” Jon Snow nodded to Clegane and gave him a small genuine smile.

“I’m no ‘Ser’,” the Hound muttered. “The littlebird didn’t wanna escape that shit city when I offered, anyway”.

Tyrion quickly figured they were talking about Sansa having heard the Hound refer to her as ‘littlebird’ on a few occasions. “The night of the Battle of Blackwater Bay?” He asked from the other end of the table now intrigued to know.

“Aye,” Clegane confirmed. “The Stark sisters are stubborn. The littlewolf gave me a hard time, too. Was a pain in my arse for an entire year”.

“Arya?” Jon asked hurriedly.

“Aye,” he confirmed again. “Found her with the Brotherhood. She was with that whingy lad Gendry you brought to the Wall and a fat little shit who wouldn’t stop talking about food”.

Tyrion was even more intrigued now. In the midst of a rather sensitive mission, Davos Seaworth had singled out this fellow and brought him into their fold. Granted the young man was skilled with a hammer; but, who _was_ he?

“Who is he, anyway?” Tyrion looked from Snow to his advisor asking nonchalantly so as to mask his curiosity.

Davos, who was sitting next to him across from Jon and the Hound, avoided his eyes. Jon, on the other hand, did not. It took him a moment to contemplate then he turned to Daenerys, looked her straight in the eyes, and said: “He’s Robert Baratheon’s bastard son”.

 _Of course, he is._ Yet another reminder of the fact that his sister’s children were all in fact his brother’s.

Tyrion quickly turned to Daenerys on his left and her eyes were flaring – _Robert had destroyed her family, after all._ From the other side of the table, he heard Ser Jorah who was sitting to her left: “He’s the one who made the run back to Eastwatch to send you our message, Khaleesi”.

And just like that, Daenerys’s fire calmed and she nodded slightly to Jon who turned back to Clegane: “What of Arya?”.

Tyrion noticed the smile on Daenerys’s face as she watched Jon ask the Hound about his long lost sister.

“She escaped the Brotherhood but lost her pals. Gendry was taken by some Red Woman…,” Clegane trailed off when Jon turned to Davos and waited for him to explain something unsaid between them.

The Onion Knight cleared his throat before saying with a bitterness: “Melisandre wanted to burn the boy alive as a sacrifice to help Stannis win the War of the Five Kings”. He paused, then concluded: “I smuggled him out of Dragonstone”.

Daenerys leaned her head to ask Tyrion privately: “Isn’t she the one who…”. He nodded quickly before she finished her question.

Jon had noticed their interaction and looked at Daenerys with serious questioning eyes. She composed herself and explained with a wave of her hand: “Shortly after my arrival at Dragonstone, this _Melisandre_ paid us a visit and urged me to summon the King in the North”.

Davos was now fuming. “She’s an evil and dangerous woman!” He said as he got up from his chair and went to collect himself by the side table housing the maps and sigil figures they will later use.

 _Davos is hiding something._ Tyrion noticed Jon looking at his advisor empathetically. _And Jon’s in on it, too._ Trying to lighten the mood, he looked across the table to Ser Jorah: “You never told us, Mormont, where in the world did you find the cure for Greyscale?”

“At the Citadel,” he responded plainly.

“The old Maesters finally good at something?” Tyrion scoffed before taking a sip of his wine.

“Not the old ones. A young one in training, actually. Samwell Tarly,” Jorah explained.

Tyrion almost chocked on his drink, then felt Daenerys stiffen next to him while Jon almost jumped out of his chair almost childishly asking: “You met Sam?”

“You kno-,” and before he could finish his question, Jorah answered it himself, “of course, you do. The Night’s Watch”.

Daenerys was now squeezing the table trying to contain herself having made the same connection Tyrion made; she had burned this lad’s father and brother alive.

_I knew this was gonna come back and bite us in the ass._

“Aye,” Jon confirmed and added: “He’s a true brother. The first to kill a Walker with dragonglass. My closest friend. As Lord Commander, I sent him there to train. Last I heard of him was when he sent me a raven that he’d found a map of Dragonstone with a mountain of the glass”.

_Oh, kill me now!_

Daenerys could not contain herself anymore and got up from her chair. They all stood up with her; Jon and Jorah first and Clegane and Tyrion last.

She looked around avoiding Jon’s eyes and used a regal tone though her voice was starting to break: “Well, this was very pleasant company. But, I’m in need of some fresh air”. And she walked out.

Tyrion noticed that her steps got instantly quicker when she crossed the threshold.

Davos rejoined the conversation: “How’d he manage _that_? The Princess Shereen…”.

Tyrion tuned out the conversation and waited for a few minutes before following his Queen knowing exactly what was troubling her.

He noticed on his way out that Jon Snow had disengaged from the conversation clearly battling whether or not he should check up on her himself.


	4. Daenerys Targaryen II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany runs and Tryrion follows her, then another comes to her.

**Daenerys Targaryen II**

_Out of all the Houses in Westeros, Jon’s best friend had to be a Tarly!_

For a second time, she found herself running away from him. She maintained her regality as best she could until crossing the threshold of the ship’s main hall then hurried towards the stairs leading to the upper deck.

She was startled when she almost bumped into Missandei who was on her way back from Daenerys’s cabin where she had gone to fetch her some extra furs for her shoulders as a shiver gave her goosebumps earlier – not knowing if it was a result of the food settling in her stomach or a reaction to the glances she and Jon had been stealing at each other all night long.

She steadied herself then Missandei walked behind her and placed the furs on her Queen’s shoulders. She brought up her right hand and squeezed Missandei’s saying in a little more than a whisper: “Thank you, my friend”. She straightened her back and walked on bracing herself for the cold outside while Missandei turned back to the main hall where she would try to look for answers to what was troubling her Queen.

Daenerys went straight to the ship’s bow where a few weeks earlier she had stood to process the life changing event that was the mission beyond the Wall; the Army of the Dead was real, the Night King was real, Viserion was lost, and Jon lay unconscious in his cabin half frozen to death – _and those scars!_

She was trying to put it all together when Ser Jorah had approached her: “You should rest, Khaleesi”.

She had turned her head to her oldest friend and advisor only to have the words stuck in her throat. She knew the Old Bear loved her long before he admitted it to her, even long before Tyrion had told her he suspected it. His eyes had always betrayed him.

Jorah knew it would never be reciprocated and had just been standing vigil atop the Wall with her as she longed for another. She could not hurt him further by openly admitting her feelings for Jon. The tears were starting to well up in her eyes and so she turned her head back and looked down at the waves crashing against the ship.

With all the years he had been at her side witnessing her great many losses and triumphs, Jorah knew her best. And so, he had tried to comfort her: “He’ll wake up”.

She had almost chocked asking: “Will he?” _Drogo didn’t wake up, not really._ And then, she had been forced to end his life with her own hands.

“Yes,” Jorah had assured her, “because he’s worthy”.

 _And Jon was indeed worthy._ A man so determined on saving his people, he traveled South against sound counsel, refused to yield to a woman who could easily kill him, worked tirelessly to find his precious dragonglass, did not hesitate to be on the front lines of this battle for survival, and was willing to give up his life for his cause – _or had he already?_

She, on the other hand, was _not_ worthy. Especially, not worthy of _him_. She had asked Jon in their first meeting in her throne room at Dragonstone not to judge her by the sins of her father the Mad King. But, here she stood having committed her _own_ sins – _a Mad Queen_.

“Your Grace,” it was Tyrion.

She realized when she heard his voice that she had been squeezing the ship’s railing in frustration. She did not turn around; but, said – referring back to their first conversation as ruler and advisor – with a soft sadness: “Turns out I’m the wrong kind of terrible, after all”.

“That’s not true,” Tyrion took a step towards her.

She turned to face him barely keeping the tears at bay: “I killed that man’s family!”

He tried to calm her with her own reasoning: “You took a decision in the moment. The Tarly’s sided with Cersei betraying their own liege lords”.

She snapped at him: “ _Now_ you agree with me?”

He used his most comforting counseling voice: “We only learn from our mistakes. Actions have consequences. Good ones _and_ bad”.

But, these were not just _bad_ consequences; they were _catastrophic._ What will Jon think of her? Will it break their newfound trust? Will it endanger the alliance upon which the very survival of the realm now depended?

She all but exploded: “Did you not hear what was said? That man has been fighting the true enemy for years. He saved Ser Jorah from oblivion. If it weren’t for him, Jon would have never come to me”.

“So, it’s just _Jon_ now?” Tyrion’s tone was almost mocking.

Fire flashed in her lilac eyes: “Now is _not_ the time to discuss this”.

Tyrion pushed on though: “But, _it is_. When it comes to him, you are impulsive”.

_Oh no, he didn’t just use that word again._

Her face turned to stone. “That’ll be all, Lord Tyrion,” she said with affirmative regality and turned her back on him as a dismissal.

Daenerys could hear her dragons screeching in the distance. She closed her eyes and reached out to them in her mind. She felt their pain – Rhaegal’s especially. He had been locked up in Mereen with Viserion and so they had become closer than either of them had been with Drogon. She got through to Drogon first; as his rider, her connection with him was always strongest. Rhaegal, however, was resisting her and only began to calm just as she heard footsteps approaching.

She turned back around, this time determined to scold her Hand: “Tyrion, I told you…”. Only it was not Tyrion. She trailed off as she saw the man she had just run from.

“Jon…,” she mouthed his name in a whisper he did not hear.

“What troubles you, my Queen?” He was genuinely worried.

She could not face him. She looked around them. All she could see was darkness. The sea was dark. The sky was dark. Even the moon was hiding behind heavy clouds.

He pressed her: “Is it that Gendry business?”

Ever since she had learned from Ser Barriston Selmy the truth about her father, she was determined to separate herself from the image everyone had of Aerys Targaryen. She had often been called _the Mad King’s daughter_ as an insult and did not wish that sort of prejudice on anyone. Now, she had to look straight at Jon to make sure he understood how sincere she is about it. “No,” Daenerys said in the soft voice, which in this moment she realized was reserved solely for Jon.

He took two wide strides to close the distance between them like he did in the Dragonpit, pleading with his big grey eyes that she confides in him. His look broke through her barriers as it has been doing since he awoke from his injuries beyond the Wall and found her at his bedside.  

She turned back around unable to tell him to his face: “After the Battle of the Blackwater Rush, I gave Cersei’s remaining forces a choice; bend the knee or die”. She felt him move even closer now, standing next to the railing looking at her profile as she continued: “Lord Randyll Tarly and his son Dickon were among them. The only ones who refused,” she paused, “I executed them”.

He did not say anything in response. She feared the worst and turned to look at him only to find his eyes unwavering. “I burnt them alive, Jon,” she exclaimed as if telling him _I don’t deserve for you to look upon me so._

Now, it was his turn to tell her a story: “On the morning of Sam’s eighteenth name day, his lord father summoned him and told him that he was not worthy of his lands and title. And that if Sam were not to ride North that day to take the Black and renounce his birthright, his father would arrange for a hunt from which he would never return”.

“They’re still _his_ _family_ ,” she exclaimed.

He took a deep breath, then asked her: “Do you remember what you said on the cliffs when you came back from the battle?” She gulped. He continued: “Sometimes, strength is terrible”.

_Seven Hells._

She closed her eyes to stop tears from rushing down her face.

And then, he opened up to her for only the second time since they met: “I once hanged a boy at the Night’s Watch”.

She opened her eyes again, now in shock and asked: “What had he done?”

His response was simple and plain: “He and a few others murdered their Lord Commander”.

But, _he_ was the Lord Commander. A chill crept down her spine. She started piecing it all together. Ser Davos’s words in the throne room. Jon’s evasiveness when she inquired. _His scars_. And now _this._

She steadied herself leaning her left hand on the railing while her right hand crept up his chest to rest on the left direwolf sigil decorating his steel armor underneath which she knew the worst of the scars resided.

“A knife to the heart for your people…”. And then the tears came rushing.

His hands reached out to her from underneath his heavy cloak. His left held her waist while his right wiped the tears off her cheeks. His bare touch ignited a warmth in her heart that quickly shot through her entire body. His eyes went from hers to her trembling lips.

_There’s no point in resisting this anymore._

She looked at his lips and brought her left hand with which she was leaning on the railing up to the back of his neck. Jon did not wait for her to bring his head down to meet hers. He crashed his lips to hers and flood gates of passion opened for them both.

They quickly parted their lips to give way to their battling tongues and just as he was backing her against the ship’s railing, Rhaegal stormed through the sky and flew over the _Silver Queen_ stern to bow.

He eased the tight grip of his left hand on her waist while his right was now tangled in her braids. They looked upon each other heavily breathing at first and calmed down as she was starting to notice a commotion among the crew members at the stern.

She slipped out of his embrace but not before her right hand traced playfully at a diagonal from his steel armor to his right abdomen and into his hand for a fleeting moment. He turned around following her. Her back was now to him but her hand trailed behind her in his. She turned just her head and smiled cheekily. And with a feather like touch, she slipped her hand away and gracefully walked back down below deck leaving him in awe.

 


	5. Jon Snow II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his encounter with Dany at the bow of her ship, Jon goes back down to the main hall for more revelations.

**Jon Snow II**

It took the King in the North a few minutes to collect himself after his encounter with the Dragon Queen at the bow of her flagship.

It was overwhelming.

The guilt in her eyes as she told him about the Tarlys… He knew it was not because she took a life post-battle as much as it was because she feared that she had wronged someone he cared about.

The need to comfort her quickly overtook him to the extent that he broached a topic he had discussed but a handful of times and only with Davos, Melisandre, and Sansa. It was a secret he preferred to keep hidden in an attempt to quell the question of _why_ that has been plaguing his mind since he came back from _nothing._

He had only touched her twice before tonight both of which were uninvited but not at all unwelcomed.

The first was in the dragonglass cave when he led her to the drawings depicting the Night King and the White Walkers – the real enemy they were all facing. It was a brief and light touch. And she was too much in awe of standing where the Children of the Forest and the First Men had stood thousands of years ago to care about his break in decorum.

The second time was in his sickbed on their way back from Eastwatch to Dragonstone. He awoke to her by his side to find a great loss eating at her heart and a torrent of emotions flooding her lilac eyes. Without thinking, he grabbed her right hand from her lap and held it between them so naturally it did not feel like it was the first time their bare skin touched.

He had wanted to comfort her again tonight. But, this time, he was not confined to a bed. He was standing next to her and so, he held her tightly and brushed away her tears as she unraveled in his arms and became _Dany_ – a side of her he saw so rarely but longed to bury his soul inside.

And in _kissing_ her; in the contrast between her soft plum lips and her hot demanding tongue, with her left hand gently caressing the back of his neck while her right rested over his speedily beating heart, he found a warmth he had not even known he craved, for the ice had long been engraved in his bones.

He inhaled a deep breath of the chilly evening air and braced himself to go back down below deck to face her again. And as soon as he crossed the threshold of the ship’s main hall, their eyes locked.

She was sitting at the head of the table as she had been earlier. But, Tyrion and Jorah were no longer at her right and left. Missandei was now in Tyrion’s seat having slanted it closer to Daenerys as they hushed and giggled.

The Hound had vacated his seat and was now hunched over the hearth to the right of the door staring into the flames. At that end of the table, Jorah had brought his seat over and was now deep in conversation with Davos, Tyrion, and Grey Worm who had preferred to sup with his men earlier. A map of the North lay in front of them and they were taking turns moving small wooden sigil figures around it in what Jon presumed to be proposing military strategies for defending the realm against the dead.

As Jon’s eyes locked with Daenerys’s when he entered the room, he felt their eyes on him and so he broke his gaze with her and turned looking down at them: “I thought we were taking the night off”.

“I’m surprised the King in the North knows the value of rest,” responded Daenerys playfully from across the room.

_Even Daenerys is still referring to me as ‘King’?_

Missandei got up from her seat next to the Queen as Jon circled the table towards them. “I’ll go light the fire in your cabin, Your Grace,” said the brown-skinned woman before exchanging a knowing look with her Queen and leaving the main hall.

Jon looked at Missandei’s vacated seat and found it inappropriate to sit that close to Daenerys given their present company. He slanted it back and sat in Tyrion’s original spot as the dwarf now occupied his. He looked across the room to the Hound hunched over the hearth and recalled the man’s reaction to the burning wight bear beyond the Wall. “I thought you didn’t like fire, Clegane,” Jon asked not in a patronizing tone; but, rather in a concerned one.

“I don’t,” he responded without flinching. “But, Thoros had urged me to look into the flames. And I saw the vision that led us to Eastwatch”.

Intrigued, it was Daenerys’s turn to ask: “Do you see anything now?”

“Nothing of importance,” the Hound still did not turn around even after being addressed by the Queen.

“Oh, I pray, do tell,” interjected Tyrion whose tone was rather mocking.

The Hound turned to Tyrion intimidatingly: “Fuck off!” Then, he remembered that he was in the Queen’s presence and had just insulted her Hand. So, he turned to her and quickly said: “Apologies, Your Grace” almost mumbling the last two words.

Waving her left hand, she responded: “That’s quite alright. We’re at war. A bit of crassness can be expected”. Daenerys paused, then asked: “What did you see, Sandor?”

“Fire melting ice,” he answered her. “Ice extinguishing fire,” he brought one of the two armless chairs on either side of the hearth to the center of the table. “I don’t know. They blurred,” he sat down. “See? Nothing of importance”.

“You’d be wise not to trust in the Lord of the Light’s visions,” Davos interjected from the other end of the table.

“I don’t trust _any_ Lord,” the Hound scoffed back.

“Then, what are you doing fighting in the Great War, Clegane?” Tyrion now asked seriously.

“I wanna kill my cunt of a brother,” he answered as if he was ordering a bowl of stew and two chickens at the Crossroads Inn.

“Don’t we all,” said Daenerys with a sigh.

Jon turned to look at her, she stared ahead and explained: “During the Sack of King’s Landing, the Mountain killed my brother Rhaegar’s two children, then raped and killed his wife Elia Martell”.

“I thought that was just a story,” Jon said in shock.

It was Tyrion who now explained: “Not _just_ a story. He admitted it during my trial by combat for Joffery’s murder before crushing Oberyn Martell’s head in a thousand pieces with his bare hands. You see, Cersei had chosen the Mountain as her champion and so, the Red Viper volunteered to be mine in an attempt to avenge his sister and her children”.

Jon gulped. The more time he spent with Daenerys and her entourage, the more he learned of the horrors inflicted upon her family, the innocent and the wicked alike. The people suffered because a King was mad, because a Prince was driven by lust. When Rhaegar kidnapped and raped Jon’s aunt Lyanna, he sparked Robert’s Rebellion, which took the lives of soldiers, smallfolk, and noblemen by the thousands.

And the woman now sitting next to him was left a newborn babe with no family to love her save for a cruel brother who used her for his own ends. He reached out his left hand beneath the table and took her right, which was resting on her thigh. He squeezed it as he turned his head to look upon her with eyes that said _I know what it’s like to be alone._

He did not let his hand linger though lest Tyrion notices – _as if he hadn’t noticed them already._ Jon changed the subject directing yet another question to the Hound: “Clegane, do you know what happened to Arya after she escaped the Brotherhood?”

He took a mouthful of ale and placed his tin cup on the table before answering: “I took her”.

Jon’s eyes widened and showed a flint of anger that only grew as the Hound continued: “I wanted to deliver her to your brother Robb in exchange for some silver. Took her up to the Twins. We arrived on the night…,” he paused to find the right words, “of the _Red Wedding_. It had already started. She was lucky; if we had arrived any earlier, she would’ve definitely perished with them”. He paused again. Then said with a sigh: “But, she saw it all”.

_That’s what you call ‘lucky’?_

Jon had heard the stories of the Red Wedding and had often dreamt of them waking up to a cold sweat. It was horrific to visualize them and he could not even begin to imagine what it was like for Arya to have witnessed it with her own eyes. He realized he had been gripping the end of the table tightly while the Hound spoke; but, asked him in a cold emotionless tone: “Then, what happened?”

“I took her to the Eyrie to her aunt Lysa. But, by the time we got there, she’d been dead for three days,” recounted Clegane.

 _Sansa was there._ His sisters had come so close to reuniting. Jon wondered what could have happened if they had. Littlefinger would have probably tried to sell Arya off to some noble family for his own gain as he did with Sansa.

_I must deal with that sleezy whoremonger before the real fighting begins._

Recalling how feisty Arya was as a child, Jon thought she would have probably stuck Needle’s pointy end in Littlefinger’s chest before she would let anyone touch her.

 _How did she even hold on to it through all of this?_ Jon had recently learnt from Lady Brienne that Arya had become rather skilled with the skinny blade he had gifted her the night he left for the Wall.

Jon had so many questions for his favorite little sister. He was exhilarated that he would see her again in just a few weeks; but, he dreaded hearing of her journey. Ever since Sansa told him of the horrors that have befallen her, he had a fiery urge to kill all those who have wronged her. He almost beat Ramsay Bolton to death with his bare hands before he felt her eyes on him and stopped, putting the wolf back in its cage.

Arya was younger than Sansa and from what he was hearing, it sounded like she had roamed the lands in the wild without even a roof over her head. The knuckles on his hand gripping the table turned white at the thought. He, then, felt Daenerys’s hand grab his this time around, her touch warm and comforting. It calmed him.

He took a deep breath and asked: “Where’d you take her after that?” Jon thought their next logical destination would have been Castle Black, to him.

The Hound almost rolled his eyes as he began to say: “Brienne of fuckin’ Tarth came upon us, said she swore to Catelyn Stark that she’d protect her daughters. But, the girl didn’t wanna go with her. So, I tried to fight her off”.

Jon knew the rest of this story: “Brienne told Sansa”.

“The littlewolf hated me so much she wouldn’t give me a merciful death and left me to my fate,” the Hound spat.

Jon smiled internally. _That does sound like Arya._

Then, Tyrion asked with a devilish smile: “Wait, Lady Brienne beat the Hound in single combat?”

Clegane glared.

“She sounds like a formidable woman,” said a smiling Daenerys as she sipped the last of her wine.

“She had a Valyrian steel sword!” the Hound snapped.

“Excuses,” said Ser Jorah under his breath.

A laugh broke out across the room and for a few moments, it no longer seemed like they were heading to a fight that could end their lives and the whole of the Seven Kingdoms.

“Well, at least now, we can end the night on a good note,” said Daenerys as she placed her silver wine goblet on the table. She stood and waved the men off when they started to join her: “Please, stay”.

“Enjoy the well deserved rest,” she said before stealing a glance at Jon and leaving.

The rest of the evening was a blur for Jon. As the men shared war stories, his mind wandered back to his earlier encounter with Daenerys at the bow of the _Silver Queen_. Her touch ignited a fire in the pit of his stomach, he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. At some point, he got up from his seat, took off his cloak, and placed it on the chair noticing that Tyrion had left. Jon, then, grabbed Daenerys’s vacated chair and dragged it around the table in front of the hearth. He sat down, his legs extended out and crossed at the ankles, and stared into the flames. He was not looking for a vision from the Lord of Light like Clegane. He had given up on finding an answer to as to why he was brought back. But, he longed for the warmth he felt earlier in her embrace. She was fire incarnated and as he stared into the flames, he knew it would burn him; yet, he wanted it to consume him all the same.

He caught Missandei re-entering the room from the corner of his eye. She gave him a cheeky knowing smile, almost winking at him, before turning to Grey Worm sitting at the table and laying her hand softly on his shoulder. Jon wondered if Daenerys had told her friend about her earlier encounter with him. They were giggling like girls when he had come back. And now, Missandei was giving him that look.

_Is that an invitation from Daenerys?_

There was only one way to find out. Jon got up and purposefully walked out of the room only to be stopped by Davos before taking the right hallway that led to her cabin.

“Jon, a word?” The Onion Knight asked.

 _Gods_.

The King in the North now turned left and led them to his own cabin. He entered first with the Onion Knight on his heels. Davos closed the door and asked worriedly: “You’re not looking to the flames for answers, are you, lad?”.

“Of course, not,” retorted Jon as he took off his steal armor as if he was retiring for the night. _Need to maintain the façade_. He went to the small hearth in his cabin, grabbed a few logs of wood from the pile next to it, and occupied himself with starting up the fire.

When he turned back around, Davos was sitting at the small rounded table between the hearth and Jon’s bed. Jon took the seat in front of him and looked across the room to the windows through which the moon light now beamed.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” said Davos in a heavy voice.

“I’m not playing,” responded Jon quickly almost under his breath.

“That’s precisely the problem,” Davos sighed, “the Great War is no Game, that much I know, but it ain’t devoid of it either. When you swore your sword to the Dragon Queen, you didn’t consult anyone. Not me; your advisor. Not your sister; the Lady of Winterfell. And definitely not the Northern Lords who made you King in the first place”.

“What are you trying to say, Davos?” Jon’s patience was almost running out.

“Given everything that she’s done in the past few months; allowing you to mine the dragonglass, losing a dragon,” Jon flinched for his role in her devastation as Davos continued, “the truce with the Southern Queen, and committing her armies to our fight, there’s a good chance we can convince the Northerners to accept her and put aside _their_ enmities”.

“Aye,” Jon nodded as this was his own logic.

“But,” _I knew this was horse shit_ , “that’s not gonna happen if they see your infatuation with her-”.

Jon cut him off: “I’m not-”.

“ _I_ know that,” Davos exclaimed, “that’s _not_ how _they_ ’ll see it though”. He paused, then said: “It’s dangerous. You’d die for her and she’d probably do the same for you”.

“You don’t know that,” scoffed Jon.

“You didn’t see her when you were lying in this bed on the brink of death,” Davos responded teasingly.

If the cabin was not so dim lit, the Onion Knight would have probably seen his King almost blush. Davos sighed, then said: “All I’m asking is for you to be careful, for the both of you”. He got up and walked to the cabin’s door. With his hand holding the knob, he turned to Jon and said before leaving: “And if you’re not gonna use your bed tonight, at least ruffle it up a little for appearances’ sake”.


	6. Sansa Stark I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa traces the steps that led her to ousting Littlefinger. Sam and Gilly arrive in Winterfell and meet the Stark sisters.

_A/N: In the previous chapter, “Jon Snow II,” when Jon learnt about Arya’s travels; how she’d come so close to reuniting with Sansa and how Littlefinger would have probably tried to marry her off, I had written:_

“Recalling how feisty Arya was as a child, Jon thought she would have probably stuck Needle's pointy end in Littlefinger's chest before she would let anyone touch her.

_Does she even still have Needle?_

Jon had so many questions for his favorite little sister…”

_I’ve went back and changed it though (and it’ll come up later in the story) to:_

“Recalling how feisty Arya was as a child, Jon thought she would have probably stuck Needle’s pointy end in Littlefinger’s chest before she would let anyone touch her.

 _How did she even hold on to it through all of this?_ Jon had recently learnt from Lady Brienne that Arya had become rather skilled with the skinny blade he had gifted her the night he left for the Wall.

Jon had so many questions for his favorite little sister…”

_Apologies for the inconvenience. And I hope you enjoy this long-awaited update._

**Sansa Stark I**

_The Lady of Winterfell_ … As a young girl, Sansa Stark never thought that this particular title would be bestowed upon her. Her father was the Lord of Winterfell and her older brother Robb was his first true born son and heir. And in his absence, she still had two younger brothers to whom the title would go, by virtue of being males, before it could ever reach her.

So instead, she had bigger dreams as a child; _as naïve as she was_ , she dreamt of marrying a Prince and being crowned Queen of all of the Seven Kingdoms. But, her Prince was no knight in shinning armor with valor and honor. Joffrey Baratheon was a spoilt entitled brat who quickly turned into a vicious weak King with an insatiable appetite for tormenting the whole of King’s Landing and her _especially_.

She recalled her stupidity when faced with a choice between said Prince and her little sister at the Crossroads Inn all those years ago. She had chosen to be passive and told King Robert that it had all happened too quickly for her to see when Arya’s direwolf Nymeria attacked Joffrey. In the end, her own sweet gentle direwolf Lady was killed so was the butcher’s boy while her sister lost Nymeria and despised her even more than she already had at the time.

She tried to pinpoint the exact moment she became the _Lady_ of Winterfell. For the longest time, Sansa was a bystander as tragedy after tragedy befell her beloved family, just as Littlefinger had told her as they looked upon Moat Cailin on their way back to Winterfell. Ned’s head had been chopped off at Joffery’s _merciful_ order. Arya had been missing since and presumed dead. Bran and Rickon had been supposedly killed by Theon Greyjoy. Catelyn and Robb had been slain by the Boltons and Freys at the behest of Tywin Lannister.

_She was all alone._

But, in riding North, in coming back home – even if the people were _strange_ as she had told Lady Walda, she reconnected with her roots. It had started with the elderly maid Ramsay Bolton later flayed for trying to help her. _Welcome home, Lady Stark_ , she said. _The North remembers_ , she said. And then, in reminding _Reek_ that his name was Theon Greyjoy; that he was the last surviving son of Balon Greyjoy Lord of the Iron Islands, she was reminding herself that _she_ was Sansa Stark; that she was the last surviving child of Ned and Catelyn Stark. The Lannisters had stripped away much of her in King’s Landing. _I have traitors’ blood_ , she had told Olenna and Margery Tyrell once in the gardens. And Ramsay was determined to peel off the remains.

But, while some of her was still left, she jumped Winterfell’s high walls with Theon. Then, when she reunited with Jon at Castle Black, she decided to finally heed Littlefinger’s advice and stop running urging her brother to retake their ancestral home. And so, she emblazoned her new dress – and Jon’s new cloak fashioned to mirror their late father’s – with the direwolf sigil and wore it proudly in the face of Lyanna Mormont of Bear Island and Robett Glover of Deepwood Motte as she demanded they honor their oaths to House Stark.

But, only in killing Ramsay – in the most fitting of ways, did she fully take control of her life. When his hounds had started devouring him, she almost turned to walk away. She stopped though and looked intently at the gruesome scene, engraving it in her memory stored to recall whenever the Bolton Bastard haunted her dreams. And when she had finally turned around to leave, a light devilish smirk on her face, his screams echoing throughout the kennels, there was a newfound swagger in her strides. This _here_ was the moment she became the _Lady of Winterfell_.

And _this_ Lady of Winterfell had just taken out one of the Game’s longest and most conniving players; Littlefinger. Lord Petyr Baelish had risen from a frail lovesick boy bested by Brandon Stark to Master of Coin and then Lord Protector of the Vale. The man’s successes rested on the mystery of his objectives. The other players did not know his endgame and so, could not predict his actions. Even Tywin, the wise old lion, did not see his treachery coming as Littlefinger made new friends of the Tyrells before the Lannisters ever realized he was no longer _their_ friend.

Yet, Sansa was his weakness; he loved her just as he had loved her mother Catelyn. Granted it was a sick and twisted love; but, it was enough for him to trust her. He taught her his tricks and revealed to her his ultimate objective; everything. Petyr Baelish of the Fingers wanted to sit on the Iron Throne with Sansa Stark as his Queen. His trust in her was his undoing though.

Littlefinger counted on Sansa maintaining her childhood dreams of becoming Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. As Ned and Catelyn Stark’s oldest – and at one point, only – surviving child, Sansa was the key to the North. That was why the Tyrells sought a union between her and their pillow-biting heir. That was why Tywin forced a marriage between her and his son Tyrion. And that was why Roose Bolton wanted her for his newly-legitimized bastard son.

By killing her aunt Lysa, Littlefinger took control of the Vale and with Sansa, he would not only get the North; but, also a hold on the Riverlands from her Tully blood all giving serious weight to his claim to the throne when the dust settles. He was oblivious though to how much the years of hardship had reshaped Sansa’s priorities. Now, she only wanted to be safe and had learnt the truth of her father’s words that _the lone wolf dies; but, the pack survives._

Littlefinger did not factor in Jon Snow. He counted on either Stannis Baratheon defeating the Boltons and naming her Wardeness or that Sansa would succeed in manipulating Ramsay who she assumed Baelish would later plot to kill as he did with Joffrey. Jon’s crowning as King in the North though ruined his plans. And Sansa saw it in his eyes when he leaned against the wall eyeing her silently as the Northern Lords hailed their new king.

Yet, they still needed the Knights of the Vale and her previous interactions with their commander Lord Yohn Royce made her out to be weak and inexperienced. She needed time to prove herself a competent ruler to Bronze Yohn to secure the Vale’s loyalty to _her._ And so, she tolerated Littlefinger’s presence mostly aware of his maneuvers and often shutting him down.

Jon traveling to Dragonstone was a blessing to Baelish’s plans of isolating Sansa and making her susceptible to his control again. But, it was short lived as Bran then Arya returned home. At first, Littlefinger tried to gain favor with Bran by giving him back the dagger the cut-throat had tried to kill him with after his fall from the Broken Tower. It was fruitless though as the young Stark was not interested in the Game for he had become the Three-Eyed-Raven – _yet another magical phenomenon Sansa did not fully comprehend._

And then, Arya was a mystery – even to Sansa. It shook her to see her weird and annoying little sister duel so well with Brienne of Tarth – one of the best in the whole of the Seven Kingdoms. Sansa’s own horrible experiences had made her a competent player of the Game. And so, she would shudder when she wondered what sort of experiences have made Arya such a capable warrior.

And suddenly, this capable warrior was coming after her. Arya’s love for her half brother Jon had always been unmatched by her love for any of her other siblings. And she never had much regard for the inner workings and intricacies of the nobility, anyway. And so, reading the contents of that raven scroll, she quickly accused Sansa of betraying their family unaware of the dire situation her sister had been in at the time.

Arya’s possession of the scroll threatened to destroy everything Sansa had been building during the previous months; it would shatter the newfound respect and loyalty Royce and Glover had for her. A divide in their front was the last thing they needed at that moment; the Army of the Dead was almost at the Wall, Cersei could strike at any time from the South, and Jon was on a treasure hunt in Dragonstone.

When Sansa expressed her frustrations to Littlefinger, he suggested that Lady Brienne intervenes on her behalf – the very same woman whom he had pushed away from her when the lady knight first offered her services in honor of Sansa’s mother. Sansa quickly realized that he was playing at something and seized the opportunity of the Dragonpit parley to send Brienne to King’s Landing hitting two birds with one stone; avoid whatever trap Cersei laid for them and take her sworn shield out of Littlefinger’s plans.

She still had to find the raven scroll though to even the ground with Arya before she could further investigate Baelish’s new scheme. But, when she went looking in her sister’s room for the scroll, she was met with an even bigger mystery; _the faces_. While Arya had been extremely threatening and weirder than she had ever been, she explained it clearly. She now possessed the ability to kill whomever she wished and assume their identity. But, in the end, she handed Sansa her new Valyrian steel dagger in a gesture that simply said _I can kill you; but, I’m not going to._

The exchange left Sansa completely baffled. Arya had really become a killer; she was not kidding around when she talked about that list of hers. _And how is it even possible to become someone else just by wearing their face?_ There was hardly any more room left for logic in Sansa’s world.

When her sister had left and shut the door behind her, Sansa released a breath she had not realized she had been holding. She wondered though. Arya had had the scroll for a few days now and did not reveal it to the Northern Lords neither did she want to kill her. _So, why did she look for it in the first place?_ Then, a more important question penetrated Sansa’s mind: _how did she even know what to look for?_ Maester Luwin’s archives were huge dating to a few decades back. Arya could not have looked through them all for leisure and stumbled upon this particular scroll by chance. There had been no time for that. _She must’ve know what to look for._ And the only person in Winterfell at the moment who knew of it was Littlefinger.

_Seven hells._

When the realization had dawned on her, Sansa stormed out of Arya’s chambers to look for Bran – _he said he sees everything; let’s put it to the test._ She hurried through the corridors and down the spiraling staircase of the Great Keep reaching the ground floor where Bran had moved his chambers for easier access with his wheeled chair. He had not been there though. She, then, went through the Courtyard in less hurried steps lest someone sees her and becomes alarmed. She heard Maester Wolkan call out to her; but, she had no time for him. She dismissed him with a sharp “not now” without even looking his way she headed to the Godswood where she knew her brother would be.

He was sitting in his wheeled chair in front of the Weirwood tree with his back turned to whoever approached him. Without turning around, Bran told Sansa in a cold monotonous tone: “You already know the answer to your question”.

“I wanted to be sure,” she responded with newfound confidence.

“Sure of what?” Arya came out of nowhere startling them both for neither had heard her approaching.

“That Littlefinger is playing you,” Sansa shot back no longer feeling threatened by her sister.

“No one can-,” Arya started to say with a hint of defensiveness; but, Bran cut her off: “Too much confidence can be a weakness, sisters”.

They both fell silent; then, Bran turned to Arya and explained: “He knew you were watching him. Asked Maester Wolkan to find the raven scroll on behalf of Sansa”.

Sansa opened her mouth to interject that she did not; but, Bran quickly added: “Which she didn’t do”.

The two sisters, then, looked apologetically at one another as their brother continued: “He wanted to drive a wedge between you. Just as he did with Mother and Aunt Lysa”.

“He pushed Aunt Lysa out of the Moon Door,” Sansa recalled.

“I thought she killed herself,” Arya said quietly.

“He had gotten what he wanted; married her. And with her death, became Lord Protector of the Vale,” Sansa explained; then, added quieter: “Just like he wants to do with me”.

Arya’s eyes glared with anger as Bran added: “More importantly, he had her poison Jon Arryn and send Mother a letter claiming that it was the Lannisters. Even the cut-throat’s dagger was his”.

“He started the War of the Five Kings,” Arya was fuming while Sansa was seeing all the pieces fall together until she said with bitter anger: “Everything we’ve suffered was because of _him”._

Bran’s cold monotonous tone contrasted with their’s and it was even sharper when he said his next words: “His betrayal led to Father’s arrest in King’s Landing”.

“I’m gonna kill him,” said Arya sternly as she turned around determined to go at him right then and there.

Sansa had needed to be the voice of reason though: “Arya, wait”.

Her sister turned around glaring: “Honor demands that we kill him”.

Sansa maintained her composure: “Yes; but, not like this. We need to hold a trial. We cannot lose the Vale or scare the other houses”.

Arya huffed in frustration while Bran smiled contently at his sister’s newfound wisdom.

Sansa went on to explain her play: “Arya, you need to maintain the façade that we’re at odds. I don’t want him to see us coming. And I’ll lead him on”.

“Yes, my Lady,” Arya acknowledged her older sister’s authority in this matter as the Lady of Winterfell.

And with that, the Wolves had outplayed Littlefinger; avenged their fallen family, secured their hold on the North, and set an example to whoever thought of betraying the Starks again.

After Arya took the body with the guards to burn it, a young maid had hurried in to clean the blood stain at Maester Wolkan’s order.

“Don’t,” Sansa stopped her, “let it serve as a reminder,” at which the mighty Northern Lords bowed their heads and quietly exited the Great Hall. 

The Lady of Winterfell now sat at the head table in front of the hearth in the Great Hall sipping warm wine after supping with Arya while Bran kept to himself in his chambers as he has been mostly doing since his return. A guard walked in reporting to her that a man who only identified himself as “Sam, Jon Snow’s brother from the Wall” had arrived on a cart with a woman and a young boy.

Sansa was rather apprehensive about the Night’s Watch; after all, some of Jon’s so-called _brothers_ had killed him, which she had not disclosed to Arya. But, she wondered if this Sam was Samwell Tarly who had sent Jon the raven from the Citadel about the mountain of dragonglass on Dragonstone.

A chubby, round-faced fellow who did not look like much of a fighter walked in, at his side a young timid woman who seemed a bit uncomfortable in her own clothes with a golden-haired boy sleeping in her arms.

“Lady Stark,” the man began then looked closely at her and noticed her auburn hair, “Lady Sansa Stark?” to which she simply nodded. He turned to her sister and smiled genuinely: “So, you must be Lady Arya”.

“And you are?” The younger sister asked with slight irritation.

“Samwell Tarly, my ladies,” as he introduced himself, Ghost who had been lying on the floor behind Sansa and Arya in front of the hearth rose and walked around the table to meet the guests.

“Ghost,” Sam exclaimed, “how you been, boy?”

The direwolf circled Sam and the accompanying woman in cheerful playfulness for a few rounds before lying back down this time in front of the high table in a clear sign that he was well-acquainted with Jon’s friend.

“You sent us from the Citadel about the dragonglass on Dragonstone,” Sansa said now smiling.

“Aye, my Lady. Is Jon not here? Did he receive my raven?” Sam was slightly worried.

Sansa calmed him: “He travelled there to negotiate with the Dragon Queen on your word”.

They were distracted when the golden-haired boy fidgeted in the arms of the woman Sansa presumed was his mother. Sam turned to the woman then back at the Stark sisters and said: “Oh, this is Gilly and our boy Little Sam”.

Gilly gave the noble ladies an unpracticed courtesy and said with a heartfelt smile: “My Ladies”.

“Your boy?” Arya asked Sam arching an eyebrow, “Doesn’t the Night’s Watch oath forbid you from fathering children?”

“He’s an adopted son,” Sam said proudly.

Sansa decided to diffuse the situation for Sam and Gilly seemed friendly and trustworthy enough. “You must be weary from your journey. Come. Eat something,” she said waving her hand gesturing for them to join her and Arya at the table.

A few minutes into their food, Gilly glanced at Arya then nudged Sam to take a closer look at the dagger sheathed at her waist. Arya looked at them questioningly; so, Sam explained: “This dagger is an old Targaryen relic. I’ve seen an illustration of it in one of the books at the Citadel. Same one I found the dragonglass map in, actually,” he was rambling, “brought as many of them as I can with me”.

Arya was filled with joy hearing Sam talk about her newly founded weapon: “It’s a beauty; but, I can’t kill a Walker with it. Holding the blade would cut my hand”.

Sam contradicted her in excitement: “You don’t need to kill them with its dragongbone. The blade’s Valyrian steel. That kills them, too” to which Arya was delighted.

“You’re full of information, aren’t you, Lord Tarly?” teased Sansa in appreciation.

“I’m no lord, my Lady. Gave up my titles when I took the Black. Sam’s just fine,” he paused; then, continued: “And the credit for that particular piece of information goes to Jon; he killed a Walker with Longclaw at Hardhome”.

Gilly then interjected proudly: “That’s why Sam now carries his family’s sword”. She turned to him: “What’s it called again?”

“Heartsbane,” he stood up, took it out of its garb, and showed it to Arya who looked mesmerized by the blade’s glow in the flame light.

She composed herself and was all business again: “So, in addition to the dagger, we now have three Valyrian swords in our midst”.

“What’s the third?” Sam asked.

“Oathkeeper,” responded Sansa, “belongs to Lady Brienne of Tarth”.

Gilly almost choked on her food from the excitement: “A lady wields a big sword?”

“She’s our sworn shield,” explained Sansa.

“Wish I can wield a sword to protect Little Sam,” Gilly said with a hint of sadness.

“I can teach you,” Arya offered and Gilly’s face lit up.

Sansa pondered for a few moments; then, turned to her sister: “You should be in charge of training all the women and children”.

Arya nodded with a proud content smile.

“Has there been any news of Bran?” Sam asked as he finished up his food.

“You know him, too?” Sansa questioned.

“Yes, my Lady. We met him and at Nightfort. He was with the Reed siblings, Hodor, and his direwolf. They asked me to help them through the Wall”.

_That was more information than Bran himself provided about his journeys after fleeing Winterfell._

Sansa composed herself: “Well, yes, he’s back”.

“I’d like to see him, please,” Sam said with some urgency.

“Of course,” Sansa responded and turned to her sister, “Arya, would you kindly show Sam to Bran’s chambers”.

As they both started to get up, Sansa shifted to accommodations: “You’re a learned man, Sam. I suppose a chamber in the Library Tower will be to your liking”.

“Very much, my Lady,” Sam nodded quickly.

“Good. Then, I’ll see that Gilly and Little Sam are settled in,” and with that Sansa got up herself and walked to the guard by the door to give him instructions.

Before she left though, she called out to her sister: “I’ll be in the Lord’s solar, Arya”.

_A/N: This was a monster of a chapter. I feel like I’ve jumped through hoops to create a coherent flow for Sansa’s story line. What do you think?_


	7. Arya Stark I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya learns about Jon from Sam and has a heart-to-heart conversation with Sansa.

_A/N: In the previous chapters, I had referred to Jon’s eyes as brown. I’ve went back and changed that to grey as I’d like to maintain from the books how he shares the “Stark look” with Arya._

_Also, I’ve added the following segment of dialogue in Chapter (1) “Jon Snow I” between Jon and Brienne in reference to Needle:_

Now, Jon reached inside his cloak and took out a rather big scroll sealed with the direwolf sigil of House Stark. He handed it over to her saying: “A letter to Sansa. There’s only so much I can explain in a raven”.

“Understandable, Your Gr-my Lord,” Brienne stuttered for a moment.

Jon noticed Davos and Gendry approaching and continued: “That there is Gendry Waters, a talented blacksmith and battle-tested beyond the Wall. He’s worked the dragonglass mines here and I’d like you to escort him to Winterfell as soon as the Dothraki set up camp”.

“Yes, my Lord,” she got it right this time.

“Also, I don’t like leaving Sansa alone with Littlefinger for too long,” he added.

“Neither do I,” Brienne agreed, “but, the Lady Arya is able of protecting her”.

Jon raised his brows to the woman towering him to which she responded: “She’s rather skilled with a peculiar skinny blade”.

_She kept Needle._

A wide grin suddenly covered Jon’s face as he noticed Podrick trying to contain a giggle and Brienne shooting him a side look.

Gendry, then, arrived next to Davos and took Jon out of his thoughts by saying: “Good morning, Your Grace”.

_Apologies for any inconvenience. I hope you enjoy this update._

**Arya Stark I**

In her short life, Arya Stark had killed many people – a few of whom were not even on her list. They all deserved it though some more than others. But, crossing names off her list was always personally satisfying. It gave her a sense of purpose to avenge her family, impose justice, and right the wrongs in the world.

Yet, none had been as satisfying as Petyr Baelish. She knew he was trouble; but, he had never been on her list. And as soon as Bran enlightened her and Sansa of Littlefinger’s latest scheme, he was immediately placed at the top spot. And with Sansa’s plan of deception, she had for the first time eliminated a name as Arya Stark of Winterfell in front of an audience composed of Northern Lords nonetheless and with the very weapon used by the perpetrator to hurt her family.

The sound her Valyrian steel dagger made as it slashed Littlefinger’s throat and its echoes resonating against the thick granite walls of the silent packed Great Hall were music to Arya’s ears.

 _This little blade needs a name_ , thought Arya while gently tapping its pommel as she now sat alone at the high table in front of the hearth in the Great Hall. She had just led Sam to Bran’s chambers and was admiring Littlefinger’s blood stain on the floor while enjoying a cup of ale before heading up to the Lord’s solar to rejoin her sister.

 _Cut-throat_ , the words popped in Arya’s head as she lost herself in the redness of the stain. She took the dagger out of its garb and moved it around, her eyes following the reflections the flame light made on its shiny blade. It was a perfect name; Littlefinger had given the dagger to a cut-throat to kill her brother Bran and in the end, she used it to cut _his_ throat.

 _Needle now has a little brother_ , thought Arya with a devilish smile as she lightly traced Cut-throat’s sharp Valyrian steel blade careful not to cut herself. After a few moments, she sheathed it at her waist and took another sip of ale thinking back to how Needle; the skinny sword her brother Jon gifted her before he left for the Wall and she for King’s Landing, had saved her.

It was not just the multiple occasions she used it to oust her enemies; but, more importantly, it was that in reclaiming Needle, she had reclaimed herself as _Arya Stark of Winterfell_ before completely losing her to the Faceless Men. And then, it was Hot Pie’s mention of Jon and how he had come down from Castle Black and took back Winterfell that prompted her to turn away from killing Cersei and return home.

Arya loved her family dearly – even Sansa; but, Jon always had a special place in her heart. He was the only one who actively encouraged and supported her in becoming who she wants to be in spite of the restrictions old-fashioned Westerosi customs and traditions imposed on her as a highborn female. Over and above, he was the only sibling with whom she shared physical features, which prompted her at one point as a child to believe that she, too, was a bastard – he assured her she was not though. Her other siblings took after their Tully mother while she and Jon shared the _Stark look_ ; long face, brown hair, and grey eyes.

And now, Jon was only a few weeks away from returning home. Arya felt a tickle in her left sword-wielding hand picturing herself showing him how much she has grown from _sticking them with the pointy end._

She was taken out of her thoughts when Samwell Tarly walked into the hall. She assumed he had concluded his visit with Bran and was now looking for Gilly and Little Sam. He looked flustered as he crossed the now dimly lit hall hardly noticing her small frame in the wooden armchair she occupied.

“Are you lost, Sam?” she called out to him.

He almost tripped over his own feet before acknowledging her: “Lady Stark”.

“Lady Stark’s my sister,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Gilly and Little Sam are in the Library Tower,” she answered his unasked question after a brief pause. He smiled thankfully; but, still looked rather agitated. She waved gesturing for him to come over: “Have a cup of ale. You look like you need it”.

This was as good a chance as any for her to find out about Jon’s time with the Night’s Watch. She had tried to ask Sansa what she came to know from Jon. Her sister would avoid the subject saying that they were too occupied with preparing for the Battle of Bastards to share life stories; but, she had noticed that Sansa would always avoid her eyes and start fidgeting when asked. Arya knew the Lady of Winterfell was hiding something and Sam here may very well be her best lead to finding it out.

He hesitated for a brief moment before walking over to the high table. He poured himself a cup of ale and sat down defeated across from Arya. Something was on the tip of his tongue as he held the silver cup. He gulped half of it, sighed heavily, and said referring to Bran: “Your brother sees _everything_ now”.

“Seems so,” Arya responded calmly. She has the ability to assume people’s identities by wearing their faces. Bran’s visions did not bother her – at least, not as much as they bothered Sansa.

“Have you known Jon for long?” she changed the subject easing the awkwardness.

“We took our vows together,” he responded.

“You don’t look like a fighter,” she said a tad worriedly.

“I’m not,” he shrugged, “Jon always had my back at the Wall”. He paused before smiling and saying: “I still killed a Walker once”.

“How?” Arya was intrigued.

“Stabbed him in the shoulder with an ancient dragonglass dagger I had found at the Fist of the First Men,” he explained and added after a brief pause: “that’s how we realized their vulnerability to it”.

“So, you went to the Citadel looking for a way to a source of the glass?” she asked lightly.

“That and others things,” he was calmer now and took a sip of ale before continuing, “Maester Aemon had passed and I thought I’d be more helpful to Jon as a Maester. He was Lord Commander, then”.

“Aemon,” Arya pondered, “that’s a Targaryen name”.

“It is,” Sam confirmed, “he was Aegon V’s older brother; the one who stepped aside for the _Unlikely_ king”.

“That makes him Daenerys’s great-uncle,” she put it together.

He nodded. “I read him a letter about her once; about how she refused to leave Slaver’s Bay until the freedom of the former slaves was secure,” he recalled.

“I heard about her liberation when I was in Bravos,” Arya added.

Sam’s eyes lit up as he quickly asked: “You’ve been to Essos?”

“I have,” Arya responded plainly.

“What’s it like?” Sam was hungry for new information.

“Warm,” she almost snorted and they both broke into laughter.

As their laughter died out, Arya thought back on the Targaryens.

Like most Westerosi children, she was fascinated with dragon stories. And she was particularly fond of the warrior-queens Visenya and Rhaenys without whom Aegon would not have conquered and united the Seven Kingdoms. Yet, the Targaryens had dealt devastating blows to her family just as the Lannisters did a generation later. The Mad King Aerys burnt her grandfather Rickard and her uncle Brandon alive. And Prince Rhaegar kidnapped and raped her aunt Lyanna who her father had told her once in King’s Landing that she reminded him of.

And now, a Targaryen was on her way to their home.

“So, what’s a Targaryen like?” she asked Sam softly without revealing her curiosity.

“Well, you wouldn’t really call Maester Aemon a Targaryen. He’d been with the Night’s Watch for decades, hardly anyone remembered he was a dragon”. He paused; then, reminisced: “He was kind and wise. Nothing like the rigid Maesters I met at the Citadel. It was _his_ vote that broke the tie between Jon and _Sir Alliser Thorne_ for Lord Commander,” he sounded bitter saying this man’s name.

Arya was content with what Sam said. Not all Targaryens are evil and mad, she concluded. She would have to wait and meet this Daenerys to size her up herself.

She took another sip of ale before venturing into a new subject: “You mentioned Jon killed a Walker at Hardhome…”.

“Yes,” Sam confirmed, “He went there to negotiate with the Wildlings. Wanted to bring them South of the Wall lest they become meat in the Night King’s Army”. He paused as a darkness fell over his face before continuing: “But, the Night King attacked and killed most of the Wildlings,” he paused again and gulped, “then, Jon saw him raise the dead as wights with _just_ a gesture of his hands”.

Now, _that_ troubled Arya. She gulped; then, composed herself and told Sam sincerely: “Thank you for sharing this”. As she looked at him, she noticed how visibly exhausted he was; so, she added: “I don’t wanna keep you any longer from your family” to which he smiled. “Let me show you the way to the Library Tower,” she said as she got up from her chair.

He quickly joined her. “Thank you, my La-,” he stopped when she arched her eyebrow. She only tolerated formality from strangers and Sam was clearly a friend. “Thank you, Arya,” he said again now correctly.

Ghost accompanied them out of the hall; then, ran ahead in a frenzy throughout the courtyard. By the time Arya was crossing the courtyard back from the Library Tower to the Great Keep to join her sister in the Lord’s Solar on the second floor, he had settled helplessly by the Guest House.

Sansa had changed out of her _Lady of Winterfell_ attire and was now sitting in front of a blazing hearth in a light blue nightgown with a dark grey fur shawl hugging her shoulders while an empty wine goblet dangled in her hand.

“My Lady,” Arya said as she took the chair opposite her. The chairs were at a diagonal; so, their occupants could look at the hearth or each other.

“You don’t have to call me that all the time,” Sansa said as she got up to refill her wine goblet from the nearby side table housing the flagon and a few more goblets, “At least, not when we’re alone. Or with family”. She finished pouring wine for herself and held an empty goblet gesturing to Arya if she should pour her a one, too.

“Too fruity,” Arya said flatly.

Sansa shrugged, then, came back to her chair and sat down. A silence fell between the two sisters as she stared in the flames sipping her wine.

Arya noticed something was troubling her sister and after what transpired with Littlefinger, she thought it best that they keep each other informed from now on. She wondered if Samwell Tarly’s arrival was the reason though she had concluded for herself that he was a good-hearted fellow that poses no threat.

“You don’t need to worry about Sam,” she assured her.

“I’m not,” Sansa responded without flinching.

A few moments of silence followed before she sighed deeply then said: “Daenerys Targaryen is on her way to Winterfell”.

“And that bothers you?” Arya asked.

Sansa turned around and her tone was slightly raised when she said: “A _Targaryen_ , Arya”.

“Who is bringing her forces North to join our fight,” Arya countered.

“So is _Cersei_ ,” Sansa said mockingly.

“You and I both know that’s _not_ gonna happen,” Arya shot back.

“I’ll have you know I tried warning Jon about her,” Sansa said as she leaned back in her chair, “And now he’s bent the knee to her rival. She will _not_ let this slide”.

“True, she won’t,” Arya agreed, “but, her time will come soon enough”. She has her own plans for the Mad Queen.

“And Daenerys-,” Sansa started to say before Arya cut her off.

“Is _not_ Cersei. Maybe she’s a warrior queen like the Targaryens of old,” she was picturing her childhood fantasies of dragon riders.

“Or maybe she seduced Jon,” Sansa scoffed, turned back to looking at the flames in the hearth, and took a sip of wine; then, said: “Littlefinger noted the possibility of a marriage alliance between them. _Together they’d be difficult to defeat_ , he said”.

“A Targaryen-Stark marriage could bring peace to the Seven Kingdoms after we get rid of Cersei,” Arya suggested slyly.

“Have you forgotten what the Targaryens did to our family?” Sansa turned to Arya and shot back sharply.

“I have not,” she stood her ground, “but, who says she’s anything like her father and brother? She’s never even met them. Sam was just telling me of her great uncle Aemon who was the Maester at Castle Black. He was a mentor to him and Jon,” Arya paused; then, concluded: “We can’t judge her by her family’s crimes”.

“You sound like Jon,” Sansa huffed.

“He was always my favorite sibling,” Arya teased.

Sansa looked at her younger sister contemplating whether or not she should say what she was about to say. She took a sip of her wine and said plainly: “Jon’s a basta-”.

Before she could finish the word, Arya hissed at her with glaring eyes: “Sansa!”

“Just hear me out,” she urged her. Arya sighed sharply, arched an eyebrow, and gestured for her to continue.

“Jon’s a Stark _to me_ ,” Sansa explained, “but, to the Northern Lords, he’ll always be a Snow. You’ve seen how their loyalty wavers with the tide. And as her hand, Tyrion would never have her marry a…,” she paused to choose the word, “Snow”.

“And as queen, she can make him a Stark by royal decree,” Arya shrugged now more relaxed.

“And why would she do that when he’s already bent the knee?” Sansa countered, “he gave up our only bargaining chip; an independent unified North,” she was clearly angry. Sansa turned back to the hearth and sipped her wine to calm herself down. After a few moments, she said sternly: “If Daenerys Targaryen enters a marriage alliance, it’ll be to secure the South. Meanwhile, we ought to secure the North for ourselves”.

Arya read her mind: “And you mean to do that by having Jon marry who exactly?”

“Wynafryd Manderly,” Sansa responded plainly.

 _Smart choice_ , Arya thought. The girl was of a suitable age and said be fair. The Manderlys were the richest house in the North presiding over the Kingdom’s only city. Her uncle Wendel was slain with Robb and Catelyn at the Red Wedding and though her grandfather Wyman sat out the Battle of the Bastards, he later proclaimed Jon King in the North and dubbed him the _White Wolf._ Arya would not give Sansa the satisfaction of commending her choice though because regardless of its merit, she knew that – just like her – Jon would not be forced into a marriage.

“You can’t force him into a marriage,” she reminded her sister.

While still looking at the flames, Sansa admitted: “No, I can’t”. She paused; then, said devilishly sipping her wine: “But, I mean to place the girl in his path when he arrives at White Harbor. It’s up to her to leave a lasting impression on him”.

As much as Arya enjoyed badgering her sister, she did not want to shatter Sansa’s plans by telling her that Daenerys was said to be so beautiful that whores were dressing up as the Dragon Queen all over brothels across Essos.

She opted to ask her: “Have you forgotten how _your own_ forced marriages went?”

Sansa finished the last sip of her wine and got up to fetch some more while saying: “I’ll have you know Tyrion was not entirely awful”.

Arya was not sure if it was the wine or that together they had bested Littlefinger; but, Sansa was finally opening up to her about the years they have spent apart. “I’ll have one of those,” she said when Sansa reached the side table to refill her wine.

Sansa continued as she refilled her goblet, poured a second one, and brought them back to the chairs by the hearth: “Tyrion’s not like the other Lannisters. He was kind and honorable”.

Arya’s eyes widened. Sansa handed her the wine and took her seat while saying: “He never consummated the marriage”.

“You’re telling me the Imp didn’t jump at the opportunity to fuck the beautiful young _Lady of Winterfell_ ,” Arya teased taking a sip of her wine.

Sansa cringed at her sister’s choice of words: “You don’t have to be so crass,” she took a sip of wine and said turning back to the hearth: “And no, he didn’t. Said he’d only share my bed if I wanted him to”.

Arya arched an eyebrow at her: “And do you?”. Sansa turned to her quizzically. “Want him to share your bed?” Arya finished the thought taking another sip of wine.

A blank expression fell over Sansa’s face as she fiddled with her goblet’s stem and said: “I don’t want anyone to share my bed”.

Arya knew Joffery and could picture his cruelty to Sansa; but, she did not know Ramsay and feared the worst from the bastard heir of a house that flayed its enemies alive.

“The Bolton Bastard?” she asked breaking the silence.

“He raped me and forced Theon to watch on the first night,” she said in a cold steady voice while holding Arya’s gaze, “On the subsequent nights, he’d fuck me or cut me. Sometimes, both”.

Arya’s left hand gripped the chair in anger until Sansa said: “I fed him to his wild hungry hounds after Jon beat him to a pulp”. Her voice was so calm it was chilling even to Arya who had never thought of her proper lady sister as a killer much less a vicious one.

Sansa sipped her wine and leaned back in her chair in triumph.

It was then Arya’s turn to share: “I fed Walder Frey his sons Black Walder and Lothar in a pie before slitting his throat,” her voice mirroring Sansa’s.

“Winter came for House Frey,” Sansa acknowledged as she raised her goblet to toast her sister.

Arya responded with a light nod raising her own goblet back: “As it’ll come to all those who betray us”.

The Stark sisters spent a few more hours sharing their life stories, confiding in each other about their worst fears and deeds until Arya heard a strong ascending wolf howl outside the Great Keep. It was Ghost. She last spotted him lying helplessly by the Guest House after she had led Sam to the Library Tower. But, unlike the mournful howl she heard from him a few weeks earlier, this was a resounding battle cry.

Arya’s thoughts turned back to Jon; so, she asked her sister softly: “Sansa, what haven’t you told me about Jon’s time at the Wall?”

Unlike the previous times she had fished about this, Sansa did not avoid Arya’s eyes neither did she fidget; but, a darkness fell over her face. She blinked heavily before saying: “It’s not my place to say”.

“Tell me,” Arya demanded through grinded teeth now sure whatever her sister was hiding was horrid.

Sansa held her gaze with pleading eyes that said _please, don’t let me do this_. Arya stood her down with a glare.

Defeated, Sansa sighed; then, said quietly: “They killed him”.

“Wha-? Who?” Arya was in more disbelief than when Hot Pie told her of Jon taking back Winterfell.

“His _brothers_ at the Night’s Watch,” Sansa paused. “A _few_ of them,” she corrected, “they killed him”.

Arya felt a surge of anger run through her veins from yet another betrayal. _New names for my list_ , she thought.

“What are their names?” she demanded sternly.

Now knowing why her sister was asking, Sansa quickly said: “Jon hanged them after…,” she tried to find the words. Arya arched an eyebrow in waiting. “Stannis’s Red Woman brought him back,” Sansa explained.

_Seven Hells._

Arya was now even angrier. Melisandre had taken Gendry away from her earning the Red Priestess a deserved spot on her list along with Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr. But, now, the _bitch_ had gone and brought Jon back from the dead.

 _I am not gonna go through another Hound_.

Arya quickly quashed her doubts and asked her sister blankly: “Where is she?”

“He banished her shortly after the Battle of the Bastards,” and before Arya could inquire about the reason, Sansa said: “I don’t know why,” she paused, “he doesn’t like to talk about this whole… ordeal”.

Arya sighed heavily, took another sip of wine, and asked: “Why did they do it, anyway?”.

“They didn’t agree with his decision to let the Wildlings south of the Wall,” Sansa explained, “that’s why the Wildlings stood with us against the Boltons”.

A silence fell between the sisters as Arya’s mind went back to her earlier conversation with Sam; and specifically, Jon trying to save the Wildlings from the Night King and his army. Her heart broke as she connected the hardships Jon suffered over the years.

Another of Ghost’s howls broke the silence.

“We should retire to bed,” Sansa said softly as she got up from her chair and laid down her now empty wine goblet on the nearby table housing the flagon and the rest of the goblets.

The Lady of Winterfell straightened her back before saying: “Come the morning, we need to start cleaning up after Littlefinger”.

“Yes, my Lady,” Arya teased still sitting in her chair.

Sansa rolled her eyes, smiled, and walked over to Arya. She placed a hand on her shoulder and said softly: “Good night, sister”.

Arya tapped her hand lightly and responded: “Good night, Sansa”.

_A/N: Next up is “The Dragon and the Wolf”. I’m dreading it. Any pieces of advice?_

 


End file.
